


Hatching Strawberries

by bluegrass



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Better tag that just in case, Clingy Dragons, Dragon Rider!Kisuke, Dragon!Hollow Ichigo, Fantasy AU, Fluff and Crack, Hollow Ichigo is Zangestsu, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Old Man (zanpakuto) doesn't exactly exist here, Slightly dark beginning, Soulmates, The dragons can shift, dragon!ichigo, okay?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22616989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegrass/pseuds/bluegrass
Summary: Just because Kisuke is the first Dragon Rider to ever have twin dragons - named Ichigo and Zangetsu respectively - wrapped around his fingers, it doesn’t change the fact that the two are walking, breathing natural disasters.
Relationships: Hollow Ichigo/Urahara Kisuke, Kurosaki Ichigo/Urahara Kisuke, Kurosaki Ichigo/Urahara Kisuke/Hollow Ichigo
Comments: 13
Kudos: 283
Collections: Myths haven





	Hatching Strawberries

**I.**

Kisuke is awfully familiar with the cracks that litter these walls. Dirty with scum that no soap may wash off, grimy to the touch and soaked with the scent of a drunk man’s stomach as he heaves bile through the burn of his throat. 

The weather is as dry as it is cold, snow drizzling slowly as if its time moves twice as slow in comparison to the world. His lips crack for the third time that day, and Kisuke can feel himself growing increasingly desperate as lethargy threatens to - unironically - consume him from head to toe. 

_Ah_ , he idly sighs, watching the exhaled heat cloud his vision. Perhaps this is why the snow falls so slowly. 

Clearly, even someone as accustomed to suffering and as patient as he must knock his knees on the hard pavement and kneel before hunger. 

The end of the year is never comfortable for those barely lugging by in the dregs of the Seireitei. Crops simply don’t grow when the water freezes and vendors only open their stalls during noon if at all. Cozy in their thick padded hanten, feet and hands warm from the crackling hearth fuelled by fire stones Kisuke _has_ killed to get.

The glowing things last for two and a half weeks before dimming and cracking. Kisuke gets another. He takes five pieces and nobody dies because this time, his victim doesn’t hit their spouse or children when things get mildly inconvenient during the day.

Filthy and exhausted, Kisuke awkwardly drags his bare feet caked with dirt and blood towards his only hope for a ticket out of this gnawing misery. Preferably alive, for today will be as different as it will be dangerous. 

He carries nothing but the satchel swung across his shoulders. 

There is nothing and everything to fear as long as he continues north. He can’t be late because this event will be extremely important. More important than the harvest season - to him, at least - or the worship of Amaterasu-sama, or even the hatching of the Gotei 13’s precious dragons whose single scale outweighs him in every way. Kisuke glances upwards and solemnly prays for dawn to slow with the snow. 

He takes a 40-minute walk from his shoddy hovel tucked by some dirty corner between crumbling bricks houses. The crawling pace isn’t as fast as he likes, but for the poor and hungry and dirty, Kisuke can’t be picky about transport. 

Step after step, and the sinking moon overhead seem to follow alongside him.

Patrols by the knights have increased because of this particular yearly event destined to take place at the town’s centre. Several horse carriages pass by and Kisuke does his best to not flinch at the breathy huffs and crisp clicks that ring too loudly in his ears. 

**II.**

He arrives at his destination safely and the colourful scene wounds him. Punches him in the gut, slaps him across the cheek and it startles a choked gasp from him because it’s as though he can feel the crimson nails of his mother slice through his skin again. The woman has been dead for a year, yet nothing can stop Kisuke from trembling at the mere memory of her.

Banners have been put up at the sides when he enters the clean streets. Bright and beautiful, each representing their own flowers that Kisuke cannot name. One, two, three - reaching all the way to thirteen. He reads the written words proudly, the result of secretly eavesdropping and spying behind the local schools as his mother cannot afford the education even commoners could get.

Kisuke is a gutter rat, a prostitute’s son (a gem - even if he doesn’t know yet - where there are none). An unloved child bred and born. He’s never known the light and walking among those that feel like gods crushes him. 

Excited murmurs fill the air and Kisuke turns, attention attracted towards the piercing sound of a bell at the front. A huge crowd has formed and the blond barely squeezes through the smell of sweat. He ignores the looks of disdain, the wagging of tongues, and by the skin of his teeth, avoids the arm that swings his way. “Get out,” the owner of one punch of ryo and two rings says hotly, “Disgusting brat. Your kind don’t belong here!”

Kisuke slips the valuables from the shadow of his beer belly and continues forward. 

At the front stands multiple men and women each dressed in a black kosode pieced together by an obi as white as snow. The sword sheathed on their hips or back carry different colours, decorated with tiny trinkets that betray the stiff expression on their faces. Kisuke forces his mouth close because it may come off as impolite to gawk. 

They look young, Kisuke observes. Probably only a few years older than the boys and girls they kick out from the brothel down the street where Kisuke lives. The customers that pay there like their partners slightly over the cusp of puberty. Young, terribly so. 

His mother fights tooth and nail to keep him out of the accursed place drowning in muted screams. Kisuke is almost 12 when he is described as lovely - eyes like grey moonstone and hair like cream, pale skin that is sure to hold colour well. The Madam runs her finger along the cut of his jaw. “I can buy him for a good price,” she says raspily, mouth smelling like smoke and rouge. 

For all her flaws, his mother refuses vehemently despite having had nothing but stale bread and plain water for the past three days. 

“He's mine!” she shrieks. 

Kisuke hugs her middle once the door is slammed in the Madam’s face. Tears running down his cheeks, he allows no sound to escape him. His mother doesn’t push him away. Instead, he feels her warm shaking hands touch his face. “Who do you belong to?” she asks almost kindly.

“You,” Kisuke answers; “I’m yours,” he adds, when his mother tugs painfully on his hair. For some reason, the sweet relief he’d felt earlier turns into something unpalatable.

_Yours to feed. Yours to hurt. Yours to burden. Yours only._

**III.**

There are always people that leave the brothel once they’re old enough to be deemed unfit for work. Kisuke once imagined them to be happy at the opportunity for freedom, but the boys and girls holding endless scars aren’t. They beg and plead and cry to be let back inside. “I’ll do better,” one scratches the door until her painted nails are ripped off. The door is smeared in red pulp and blood. “Aiko is a good girl. Let Aiko in, please? Please please please?”

It comes like one of summer’s rare storms when Kisuke realises why. Taken from a young age - in more ways than being sold for a string of Ryo - they’ve not known anything but the little room they are hurt in. _How pitiful,_ Kisuke thinks; _it’s life,_ the survivor in him believes. 

Like many before her, the girl soon starves to death. And on the year his mother dies, Kisuke personally carves ‘flaws’ into his skin to prevent himself from becoming merchandise, another pretty face among many. His skin really does hold colour well. Kisuke wraps the wound, suffers from fever, and the crinkled scars soon turn into proud badges of bravery.

‘Young,’ the word pops into his head and stubbornly stays. He rids the small cut of bleeding sympathy when the flap of fabric whisks across his vision. Standing taller than anyone else, a bronze-skinned woman donned in a white haori steps up before the crowd from nowhere, grinning before she speaks. 

Her plum coloured hair tied into a high ponytail and carrying slitted eyes that glow gold, Kisuke is fascinated by the way snow doesn’t seem to touch her. Lit by sunlight, the air around the lady feels comfortingly warm. 

“You know the drill,” the woman laughs, “Line up by the tents to get yourselves tested. Those that pass to my right. Those that don’t, get the hell out of here.” 

Under the sharp gazes of the fresh faced knights, everyone magically becomes docile and civil. No one shoves Kisuke away or calls him harshly. Many parents have gathered here as winter is a time of torturous leisure. Rumours whisper it’s half the reason why the Gotei 13 hold the testing during winter. 

Rough and weathered hands, big and small, grip the shoulders of sons and daughters in comfort. 

Kisuke stares unashamed because while some are orphans have lost their parents like him, their aunts, uncles, or grandparents still remain. Seeing might be believing and as Kisuke is spared that fortune, he’ll make do with what he has. 

**IV.**

Reiryoku is measured by a sphere as beautiful as the bright moon. Clasped firmly on a stand that resembled the claws of an eagle, one must place their hand on the sphere and the medium will glow to answer. The brighter the sphere glowed, the better. 

The examiners record Kisuke’s Reiryoku and tonelessly point him to the right of the woman from earlier. His glow isn’t strong by any means, but something is better than none. Elation rising, Kisuke remembers to not get ahead of himself. He has to survive the _afterwards_ before celebrating. 

Gutter rats like him aren’t allowed to return if they fail. Their love for the Gotei is unfortunately too weak for people to be sure they won’t misuse kingdom secrets against their birth place. 

He and many other children larger than him by one and a half heads are led to a large compound introduced as Shin'ō Academy. They will train here, the lady he learns that’s named Shihoin Yoruichi tells them haughtily. They will from today onwards sleep here, eat here, learn here, and after 6 years, do all of that and more for the Gotei 13. 

There are several options open for those possessing Reiryoku once they’ve graduated. Swordsmen, Mage, Researcher, Spellist, Tamer. Each separated into different divisions that make up the 13. The line goes on and on and Kisuke is inwardly hoping for his talents to lie somewhere safe. He doesn’t want to die too early. And if it’s inevitable, he wants his death to be on his terms, not someone else’s.

“... and Dragon Rider,” Shihoin-sama finishes. Everyone gasps, Kisuke not included, because everyone knows that although Dragon Riders are revered like walking gods among men, there simply isn’t enough of them to make up one division. Some hidden 14th division unknown to the common people? Kisuke curiously wonders. 

**V.**

Everyone wants, or has wanted to be a Dragon Rider at some point in their lives. The near invincible creatures have been symbols of power and authority since the founding of the Seireitei. Their intellect standing on par with a human’s if not more. Their longevity simply another reason for people to worship the ground they tread.

History teaches about how their founder the Soul King, rode his dragons: Mimihagi, Pernida Parnkgjas, and Gerard Valkyrie into battle so that Sereitei may gain its independence from tyrants that have long faded into history. The heaven tearing jaws of the dragon trio had easily ripped apart the enemy, leaving behind remnants of hate known presently as Hollows. 

Dragons are the reason Seireitei remains one of the leading kingdoms in the country. They are also the reason why the Four Noble Families remain seated in glory and power till this day. 

The Shihoin, for example, have dragon blood running through their veins. However diluted, their descendents are still born with eyes slitted and gold and they remain high in the social hierarchy after thousands of years. Known to act more animalistic than some too, lead by ancient instinct that make them uncomfortably perceptive and sharp.

The Kuchiki are well-known for their long-standing history; in particular, their wealth and influence in aristocracy and court alike. Textbooks say that the second head of the family had essentially entwined the future in his fingers when he’d been the first to vouch for laws that would not chain the Soul King’s dragons. Politics has never been easy, and once free from wartime, many soon realised the power the Soul King held and feared him so much they turned against him. 

The Kuchiki’s actions had thus brought favour upon him, and the dragons had each given him a gift: Their Kenseikan are carved from the first dragon’s teeth or scale, their scarves woven from the second dragon’s mane; every heir to the clan will always be ensured one their kin, a descendent from the last of the Soul King’s dragons. 

The Shiba are small in population, but arguably hold the greatest position among all the houses. Family oriented and easygoing, they are blessed with hatching and raising dragon young. Nobody is clear on how the tradition came to be. It simply is. The eggs are brought to the Shiba’s doorstep where they will be kept warm by the fires the clan prides themselves in. Brought anywhere outside the compound and the egg can stay dead for decades. 

The unhatched dragonlings will then keep half in slumber until The Hatching takes place. Every sixth year student and top 3 from every third year and above in the academy are called to gather. Should any of them be the _one_ for whatever reason, the baby dragon may break free from the confines of its shell and choose this partner to spend its life with. The Hatching is expected yearly, but it isn’t uncommon for nothing to happen. 

Nevertheless, claimed or not, the dragons love Shiba like how children love their parents; how close siblings love each other. They remember the heat of the lovingly cared fire that kept them warm, the hearty songs and joyful conversations the clansmen and women will have around them. The Shiba children that curiously circle around the egg before leaning their backs against the pulsing shell, babbling away about their day. Becoming _family_ in every way that counts.

The Yamamoto’s rise to prominence is by far the oddest in comparison to the rest. They do not have dragon blood, nor have they helped them in dire times. They have no hand in raising dragon young either. Instead, they are powerful because their children are born with - according to the storybooks - a phoenix’s voice. It’s said that their songs can make the heavens cry and enchant all living creatures. 

An exaggeration, if Kisuke’s ever heard one, yet it stands that the Yamamoto’s inborn talent make them favourable Riders for the dragons to Claim in the first place. No one can deny how the family has produced the most Dragon Riders in history. 

**VI.**

Kisuke tells himself to keep his head down for now. He has no backing, no family, nothing. Even the money in his rucksack is something he’d stolen several hours ago and he cannot afford to offend anyone at the academy, much less the bigwigs who only need to flap their lips at daddy and mommy to ruin Kisuke’s life forever.

Then the first weeks turns to two, then two to three. Before he can appreciate how time flies when the beds are warm and food warmer, Kisuke enters his third year of the academy. So far, he’s kept his grades consistent. High enough that the prideful noble’s children will not feel offended, but not low enough to go unnoticed by the instructors of the subject.

May nothing change. Life here is paradise in comparison to the gutters. 

During third year, students are allowed to pick the course they wish to pursue and focus on. Delaying the decision further than fourth year will only be detrimental to one’s progress, advises the course advisor. Because in the deep crevices of the academy, there exists a reserved class for those that still can’t decide what they want. Kisuke has looked into it and frankly, the specially dedicated year for suffering under the guise of pondering sounds rather unpleasant.

Beating the indecision out of somebody is not a motto Kisuke has ever assumed Yamamoto Genryusai-sama, headmaster of Shin'ō, believing in. But reality smiles to say otherwise and the knowledge makes him laugh.

He is making his way down to the Registry and Application Department when someone forcefully pulls him by the wrist, dragging Kisuke behind the door of an empty classroom. Kisuke’s first reaction is to subjugate his attacker, analysing the situation as quickly as he can while he does so. His quiet panic melds with the darkness and from within, honey gold eyes gleam. 

The face of Shihoin-sama meets him - the hidden blade he keeps on him touching her neck - and Kisuke nearly has an aneurism to start the day.

Kisuke’s head cannot knock the ground fast enough to beg for forgiveness. _I’m ruined,_ the teen doesn’t cry. _Everything’s over._ “This lowly one-”

“No need,” Shihoin-sama waves, the mischief in her _precious_ eyes shining. “Join me, Urahara Kisuke,” she says. “I’ve been watching and you have much to offer the world.”

**VII.**

His _yes_ cannot be clearer than crystal. Yoruichi-sama’s mischievous, covetous gaze that reminds Kisuke arrogantly of himself smoothens the process greatly. Hopefully, his newest master will treat him well. 

**VIII.**

The Hatching takes place during autumn. Preferably on the thirteenth day of the seventh month if the weather is decent, lasting up to two weeks where classes will cease in favour of celebration and waiting. Most commonly will the Shiba Clan be seen going back and forth on the streets with their arms and carriages full, the servants and clansmen running chores that can unroll from its scroll for miles. 

Kisuke himself has never participated in the prestigious ceremony before, but the Shihoin Clan is well known to be close friends with the Shiba, so he finds himself busy in helping out, cutting off hours from his hobbies in favour of aligning himself into his new role in the Noble House. Since his acceptance on paper, Kisuke has been living under the care of the Shihoin Clan under the promise that they will sponsor him for the decade. 

Yoruichi-sama agrees, her lips arching into a cheshire smile. Like his request doesn’t tickle the special bone in everybody’s body that detests deserters because the ten-year contract means that he is free to roam free afterwards. Unless they secretly wish to kill him before that happens, Kisuke will take their disapproving glances with a pinch of salt, his polite words thankless in the face of their annoyance. 

He’ll make his name big before then. Climbing the ladder in the Twelfth Division like its steps are little more than the pouch from the man from years ago. Had he cursed Kisuke’s name despite knowing nothing of it? His existence, audacity and cunning. The pleasure he’d snatched alongside the money, having purposefully kept one coin to the side to serve as a reminder because he could?

**IX.**

Everyone involved in the preparation of the Hatching is given a list that they must follow. Much is written on the parchment, listing out items for purchase, tasks that they must complete. Due to his status as an outsider, Kisuke’s list is shorter than the individuals who have been trusted years before him. It’s in good show of faith that he’s allowed to roam the halls of the Shiba Clan in the first place. Kisuke bows when Yoruichi drops him off from her carriage pulled by two Bayards. 

Before dusk, he is instructed to adjust the warming seals and runestone in the Hatchery with supervision. He needs only two hours or less for such simple matters, and his companion - A Shiba Clan servant boy named Yamada Hanataro - trips in fluster. “R-really?” he asks, “Then we can help out in the kitchens first! The dragons always feel hungry after they hatch. Kaien-sama had ordered twenty sheep this time!”

Twenty sheep could have fed Kisuke for over half his life. “How long have you been here?” he asks casually to hide the memory of starving every other week, not really caring for an answer. Yamada-san flushes and and as an added thought, allies are always good to have; those at the bottom usually know more than they let on. 

Kisuke is aware of his _pretty face,_ so the late (having died some winters ago) brothel Madam greedily puts it. Kisuke has nothing against using a demure smile here and there. A prostitute’s son will be what they will and when the answer falls into Kisuke’s lap, he smiles like he’s been given the position of Division Captain. “Twenty years,” Yamada-san tells him, soon putting in sentences of good words for Kisuke as the butchers then personally guide him in skinning sheep. 

“This is Urahara Kisuke. Please treat him well, everyone!”

Lowering his head is like second nature. “This humble scholar is grateful for the opportunity to participate in the Hatching ceremony.”

Hanataro must be well loved if he’s allowed to watch over the newest unknown addition into the Shihoin Clan’s registry. The one wearing suspicion like it is the only set of clothes he could ever buy after years of staying low, having - at most - half a page of record on his history entry. 

**X.**

According to Yamada-san, there is one egg that has delayed its hatching for sixteen years already. Accounting today, the number will turn seventeen and the Shiba family members in charge of the creature’s wellbeing grow more concerned with every passing year. 

“The hatchlings are well aware of what happens around them even if they’ve not hatched.” He kindly explains when he brings Kisuke towards the scaled stone of crimson and black. Underneath his palm, the egg pulses in rhythm with his heartbeat and Kisuke’s breath is stolen in wondrous awe. 

Yamada-sama’s timid smile grows into one of confidence. “Imagine being alone and unmoving for so many years. This child is of royal blood and may be stronger than the others, but…” He shakes his head sullenly, soon changing topic. “Their dame is named Masaki-sama and their sire, Isshin-sama. Isshin-sama hasn’t awakened from seclusion since Masaki-sama’s death, but they have thankfully left us with a clutch to remember them by. I will be beside you during the Hatching, Urahara-kun, remember to wear the happi we’ve provided for you in your quarters and make sure there isn’t anything that can cover your eyes.”

Kisuke nods, half-heartedly at best, because what else can he do in the face of such majesty? The egg that comes up to his hip is warm beneath his revering touch. He doesn’t dare to hope, however, even if his place on the board has topped the rankings continuously. Dragons are divine beings that Kisuke will only have the privilege to see from a distance until he graduates from the academy. If all goes well, perhaps a decade after that, under the condition he manages to reach Division Captain. 

He memorises how the roughness scrapes against his fingertips. The almost inaudible sounds that growl and click through the thick barrier dividing them. 

Kisuke misses Yamada’s raising brows and quickening breaths. 

“Urahara-san, If I may ask you to please...” _Step away._

A spiderweb of cracks slowly emerges from the top of the egg. Squelching and vibrating from its place, the soft whining shrieks make Kisuke freeze in place and the head - _heads_ \- of the twin dragons break through. Necks craned, they both turn to blink at him; clear membranes that sweep over their eyes horizontally. 

**XI.**

Dragons are born knowing their names. 

It is imprinted into their genes, their very blood. They instinctively know what they are called the same way they know how to use their wings to soar the endless skies. 

When a dragon decides on their chosen, that fortunate soul will be the first to hear his or her name. Among their kind, the significance isn’t very important, but for those outside their kind, names hold power and to be the first to hear the name of one dragon is already the greatest honour one can have. Kisuke is the first bearer of two names. 

_Zangetsu and Ichigo._ Slaying Moon and First Guardian.

He doesn’t know what to think at first. 

Though flustered, Yamada-san holds his composure when Kisuke forwards him an urgent look. Ichigo’s snout noses his Yukata in a circle, rubbing his scaled body all over Kisuke’s covered legs. 

Yamada-san helps Kisuke settles down on the floor when he timingly feels weak in the knees. Patting his back soothingly, he then informs Kisuke of his decision to get a proper Shiba on site. Covered in slime still, Zangetsu eagerly nips after Kisuke’s bony ankles when he tries to get up to chase after Yamada-san. _Wait, don’t go yet. What if someone has my head for this?_

Midnight scales bristling slightly, Ichigo growls in warning. His auburn eyes visibly glow and his twin brother makes a sound of dissatisfaction, but heels. 

They’re found stuck together like glue. The dragon with scales like moonlight, visage torn out of an ink painting has claimed Kisuke’s lap, chewing on his Yukata and soaking it with drool that could’ve been sold for fortunes. His bright yellow eyes look upwards and for some odd reason, Kisuke knows the smile for what it is. 

Literally on the other hand, Ichigo prefers higher ground, and through their freshly opened bond, demands to be picked up and held over Kisuke’s shoulder. The teenager vaguely feels like he’s about to burp a baby, but doesn’t stop stroking down Ichigo’s spine, carefully avoiding the thorns and wings that hold sunsets in them. 

They feel like the coolness of autumn nights.

The arm supporting Ichigo’s bottom lifts slightly and it makes the dragon chirp curiously. Kisuke is careful to make sure the dragon doesn’t slip or fall. “This is Ichigo,” he evenly introduces to the Shiba Clan members that are doing poorly in picking their jaws from the floor. Kisuke’s free hand drops from Ichigo’s back, moving to rub Zangetsu’s rumbling throat, “This is Zangetsu.”

“This humble scholar believes he is liked,” Kisuke ends blandly. 

**XII.**

The Hatching is two weeks away, but the Shibas are already in the midst of flipping their tables when Kisuke is summoned into a humble meeting hall two hours later. He has an armful of a squirming Zangetsu attempting to bury his face into a comfortable spot from Kisuke’s flat stomach; Ichigo is firmly wrapped around his neck as he rests sleeping on Kisuke’s shoulders, tail curled protectively over his throat. 

Kisuke stares blankly at nothing in particular while everyone concentrates every fibre of their attention on him or, more understandably, the dragonlings that seem perfectly content to live their days attached to Kisuke’s body heat. He honestly cannot tell, though perhaps evidence offers hints that say Kisuke _and_ his dragons are equally deserving of the emotional rainbow wheel of stares. 

_This,_ he thinks in time of frantic heartbeats, _is not how he plans to spend the rest of the day._

**XIII.**

“I think we let him keep them,” Shiba Kaien smiles brightly though everyone can tell how his patience is running thin. 

An elder from the Kuchiki harrumps, pushing out Kisuke’s paper details like she has something to prove. “Nonsense! He is a prostitute’s son of unknown line and origin. Three years in the academy and I’ve heard nothing of him furthermore. He could be a spy for all we know. I politely suggest we separate them until we deem him worthy of our Gotei 13’s treasures.” 

“The Shihoin has no such qualms. We will bring back the boy and his Choosing.” 

Yamamoto Tsuyoshi strokes his long, snowy beard. Voice deep and concerned, “When my brother was Chosen by Ryūjin Jakka, he had stayed with the Shiba as my brother attended his classes. I do not see why we should go against the long standing tradition.”

The civilly put arguments are seemingly endless. Having stood on the same spot for almost half an hour, Kisuke sighs softly. The dragons on his body stir in content, bellies full and scales clean. “Ichigo, Zangetsu,” he addresses them personally for the first time. 

Everyone in the room suddenly remembers he physically exists. Their stares becoming weighted anchors tied to sink him in troubled waters. Either way, Kisuke might as well get the best of the worst. His fingers play with Zangetsu’s tail. Tugging and scraping and squeezing.

If possible, Zangetsu’s roaring purr increases by several decibels. Ichigo tightens his sleek body around Kisuke’s neck, head nuzzling into his face. “Yes, Kisuke?” they answer in eerie unison. If possible, the stares feel heavier. “Anything you want, we will provide.”

It comes rather suddenly to him that despite their young appearances, the dragons are older than him by two or so years. In addition to their blessed intelligence, their mental age reached further than even that. 

Kisuke tests the waters and allows himself to be selfish for the first time. 

“I’m tired,” he whispers, head low and hands trembling. Like it’s a secret. “Can we go back home?” 

Home is the student dorms back at the academy. Cleaner than anything Kisuke’s ever lived in from before. Where his projects, paper and metal, are sprawled on the desk and more frequently, the floor as well. Where his futon is never made, blankets and pillows bunched with loose sleeping yukatas. Long soft from years of use. Kisuke wants to go home. 

In his arms, Zangetsu flares his wings that carry star-filled nights in contrast to Ichigo’s sunset sky. His yellow eyes flash, mouth forming a sphere of red, so dense with Reiatsu that scarlet lightning crackles around it. He shoots the Cero towards the old hag who spoke last, who’d dared to suggest he and his Chosen part. 

“Anything, Kisuke,” Ichigo repeats into the still air. 

Nobody breathes. 

**XIV.**

He learns that Zangetsu is chaos packed into one body, craving blood and battle, playing with his prey before he kills them. Thus far, the dragons have stuck with prey animals and the occasional small predators from the forest behind the Shin'ō. Kisuke becomes reluctant to let him out of sight after he wrecks a lecturer’s office in spiteful excitement. The man had not been kind to Kisuke despite his newly attained status of Dragon Rider. 

Though that particular worry is the least of his problems when the dragons are awfully clingy. 

Ichigo is much quieter, not so much sullen, but watchful if Kisuke must put the feeling into words. Ichigo seems to know more than he lets on. Being the cause for Zangetsu’s maniacal glee when he’d growled at the unprofessional lecturer to start with. 

Sometimes, Kisuke will find things he’d thought he’d lost forever appear under his blankets. Stolen blueprints, the tinkered coffee maker, assignments he knows were stolen from jealous year mates. 

Prone to short bouts of temper that comes as easily as it goes, Ichigo is also well adaptive and Kisuke gets the impression that come Hell or high water, Ichigo will simply flick his tail and sick Zangetsu on whatever that dares to interrupt his time with Kisuke - anything or anyone that isn’t his brother. 

The dragons are terribly obsessed with Kisuke for reasons he cannot understand. Always, they must have their eyes on him however peripheral. Kisuke has once wandered away before their bonds have yet to form in solid braided ropes, his intentions blissfully ignorant, merely wishing to visit the new blacksmith downtown while the dragons play tag with each other in the gardens. 

Kisuke returns to deep cuts of abyss ingrained into the floors of Shin'ō. The ground is levelled centimeters above what he remembers last. Horrified - some pained - cries of terrorised students echo off the walls of the Academy. 

The sound of running footsteps are unfamiliar in their discord, considering the rulebook states that running in the hallways isn’t allowed. Dispatched from their divisions, mages lift their staff and warriors draw their swords. Zangetsu has quadrupled in size whereupon Ichigo is nowhere to be found. Kisuke has an inkling that it is nowhere better. For all he avoids the battle and blood unlike his brother, Ichigo may be much more dangerous. 

The release of Reiatsu from Zangetsu’s core is so thick people are choking on it. Gasping for air as they fall over. Kisuke can almost see the palpable waves of translucent black pulsing. _Kisuke, Kisuke, Kisuke_ , a voice rings in his head, loud and lost and desperate. Like someone has ripped the world away from them. It repeats the same thing, rational gone in its anguish. _Where are you?_ _You cannot leave us - when we’ve waited for so long for you._

He spots the blessed face of Shiba Kaien amidst the panicking crowd of escaping students. The man is dignified in his composure even as he blocks the glaring sun away from his eyes with a hand. Probably summoned from the commotion, Shiba-sama looks concerned, but Kisuke trusts he has an idea on fixing this day gone awry. 

“Shiba-sama!” he calls out, running to grab onto the man’s sleeves in case he wasn’t heard. Impolite considering Kisuke’s station - neither cared.

“Urahara-kun?” Shiba-sama’s brows raise in surprise and... relief? He holds Kisuke by the shoulders, allowing it to tether his sanity to the ground. “Where were you?”

“This scholar had been downtown at the blacksmith. I had only left for half an hour.” _What’s going on?_

“Explanations later. You need to call back Ichigo and Zangetsu right _now._ I’ve never seen dragons lose their shit like this unless their Chosen had died. Yours have issues, apparently. Hurry, connect the bond and tell them that you’re alright!” 

Kisuke picks apart the meaning of ‘connect’ and ‘bond’. The words explain themselves, yet he gracelessly struggles for a while, relentlessly attempting and learning to take grasp on the incorporeal, spiritual thing that is constantly disappearing and appearing in his mind’s view. 

The ropes he eventually finds his hands on are as thick as his arms and in red and black. Swinging idly by the side, Kisuke’s rope is a soft mint green stained by faded tints murky browns. Whatever understanding he has on the happenings of Ichigo and Zangetsu are pretty much null, but Kisuke grits his teeth and does his best. Recalling the days when his mother was alive, he sloppily braids the three ropes together.

(A temporary measure until the dragons calm down.)

One over the other, pull another downwards. Keep pulling the ropes underneath each knot done after that. Focus on the repetition, don’t fracture at the heartbreak you can feel entwined in the bonds of your Choosing.

**XV.**

The aftermath of Kisuke’s twin dragons forces people to cast second looks at Kisuke when he walks past them. One-fifth of the Academy requires dire reparations, and they thankfully don’t charge the orphan - sponsored or not. 

Shiba Kaien breathes a huge sigh of relief when Kisuke directs a terse nod at him. Then turning his blond head towards the rampaging moonlight dragon, “Zangetsu,” He says softly, with the same cajoling tone he’d used back at the Shiba manor. The dragon stills immediately, head bobbing restlessly. Yellow eyes quickly scan below to catch a glimpse of his Chosen. 

The heavy stretch of Reiatsu that mysteriously doesn’t press upon Kisuke dissipates. Many clutch their fists to their chest, grateful for the first breath of fresh air after a while.

Ichigo is faster to find the source of sanity, tearing a portal through space and appearing in Kisuke’s arms, who barely manages to support the weight of Ichigo’s bottom in shocked silence. The dragon stretches his sleek body so that his front legs land on Kisuke’s collarbones. Auburn eyes burning into him, Kisuke knows what to do and flushes faintly.

He kisses the black dragon between the eyes, crooning instinctively as if he’s known how to so since birth. Perhaps he might have if this has been Fate’s plan for him all along. 

Response reciprocated, Shiba-sama seems to watch in rapt attention as Kisuke whispers by the side of Ichigo’s head: “Call Zangetsu here, please?”

Ichigo curls himself around Kisuke’s neck like a scarf. The scales that feel cool and warmth comforting. _Zangetsu,_ he hears in his head, though by the knowing expression Shiba-sama wears, the older man can hear it too. _I’ve found him._

Wherein plays the strange dynamics between the two dragonlings. Kisuke is inadequately equipped with knowledge of dragon hierarchy - in which he tries to rectify every day - but he wonders if age plays a factor regarding which dragon is inherently more submissive towards the other. He discards the notion somewhat, Ichigo and Zangetsu had emerged from their eggs on equal time. He is curious, though, very curious.

Zangetsu listens to Kisuke out of attachment, affection, and sometimes humour. He listens to Ichigo regardless of the circumstance. 

Not to say that Zangetsu folds like a wet blanket. The dragon has rebelled before. Violently. But he eventually flags and sooner or later heels to Ichigo’s ‘requests’. Of course, Ichigo doesn’t ask for much in the place, but Kisuke isn’t blind to the tilt of Zangetsu’s head when the twins are together - tiny displays that expose the bottom of his throat, tender and vulnerable. How Ichigo always gets to choose a perching spot on Kisuke first. 

Moonlight scales gleaming under the evening sun and tinting them pink and orange, Zangetsu shrinks and swoops down right into where Kisuke’s liver is, earning the fairer twin a harsh sound from his brother. 

Ichigo’s reprimand fluidly slides off Zangetsu’s white scales like water on porcelain when Kisuke chuckles and pats them both on the head. 

Well, he has an apology to make. Kisuke isn’t sure if a report will be sufficient in explaining this disaster. He won’t back down from the challenge, nevertheless, reassured by the knowledge that his dragons will be there to defend him against any harm, physically and emotionally. 

(Briefly, Kisuke also wonders what it’ll feel like to throw his weight around for once.)

**Author's Note:**

> I, uh, vaguely remember writing this for an UraIchi challenge last year, but promptly forgot about it(??). Yeah, so this had basically been left to rot in my google docs until I remembered it existed. 
> 
> Hatching Strawberries is actually incomplete in a long overdue kinda way. Like, I was sorta skimming through it just now and my brain went, "Hey, isn't the ending supposed to be like..." 
> 
> Meaning, there's technically _supposed_ to be a continuation from where I've stopped, but I've sorta lost the motivation to continue writing more on this. I'll put it over 2 chapters just in case my muse's interest comes back to this work, though. 
> 
> (Oh, right! The dragons can shift into human form. Which was why I paired them together. Kinda forgot to add that in - well, more like, the later chapters were supposed to have that information. I'm... not comfortable with writing bestiality.)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, anyway. I do adore this pairing lots. Leave a Kudos and comment if you did!


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